Learning Curve
by otherhawk
Summary: COMPLETE! More Things Change' sequel/continuation/sidestory/thing. Just because you're being careful doesn't mean things can't go wrong. Just because you're independent doesn't mean you don't need help.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Ocean's 11**

**Okay. So this is another multichapter story. But it shouldn't be more than two chapters. It was meant to be a oneshot and it got carried away.**

**As I said, this is a sequel/continuation to 'More things change'. It's set about, oh, seventeen months after the boys leave home and move to New York. For those interested in such things, Rusty's sixteen and Danny's nineteen. Just. **

**More to the point this - _this_ - is what peer pressure and mockery bring us to. Of course, I _could_ do worse. Want to try for worse? **

* * *

Maybe they'd been careless, maybe they'd simply been unlucky. Hell, maybe they'd been complacent – it was the third time they'd pulled this trick in two months, and of course they were getting bored of it. But there were bills to pay and rent to earn, and after last month, when they'd been unavoidably detained in Trenton for more than just the long weekend they'd planned for, well, there'd been a certain need to lie low. And Trenton had been completely reasonable, and they'd have done the same thing all over again if they had to, because if something was worth doing it was worth doing phenomenally; and Rusty had only missed a couple of days of school anyway, so he couldn't help but think that the guidance councillor had completely over reacted. But Danny had hung up the phone and he'd had that tight look of fear and when he'd hesitantly suggested that they clip their own wings for a couple of months, just till they knew that no-one was watching, Rusty hadn't been able to refuse him.

It didn't _have_ to always be exciting. Because they were together and life was better than it ever had been before, and besides, it always, always was anyway. Even when they were pulling ridiculous little cons for pocket change.

He followed Danny up to the door of the bar and resisted the urge to try and pull the itchy wool sweater away from his throat. How real security guards wore these all day he'd never know, and he could only be glad – again – that he'd never find himself trying to earn an honest living. He mentally shook himself. Focus – end of shift, boredom, everything's routine.

He was slouching against the wall when the owner opened it a crack and Danny waved the ID at him. "Mr Mackenzie?"

"That's right." Mackenzie looked at the paper for a long second and then squinted at the pair of them. "You're early. And you're not the regular guys." But he opened the door anyway and they traipsed inside like they belonged.

The bar was grubby. It was long past closing time, of course, but Rusty couldn't see much sign that any attempt had been made to actually clean up the place. The TV was blaring out the highlights from the game. He glanced up at it and sighed. "Why do I keep putting money on those bums?"

Mackenzie laughed. "You bet on the Mets?"

"Hey, they have to win sometime," Rusty defended, and with every word, Mackenzie relaxed a little more.

"So where are Lou and Gary?" Mackenzie asked.

About fifteen minutes behind them. Danny sighed. "Whole company is down with flu. I got dragged in here on my night off, can you believe it? What am I going to tell my girl?"

"Hey, it's extra money. Buy her something nice," Rusty advised.

"Lousy management," Danny muttered, and Mackenzie looked sympathetic.

"See, that's why I work for myself. No-one tells me what to do. Someone pushes me, I push back."

Rusty nodded and laughed, aware of Danny doing the same. Actually, according to Mackenzie's employees, he tended to push whether someone was pushing him or not. Which was what made him fair game. That, of course, and the fact that he had money and they didn't.

"You all ready?" Danny asked. "We got a couple more places to go."

Mackenzie nodded and stepped behind the bar. "Sure thing. Want a drink while you're waiting?"

He didn't need to be able to see Danny's face to imagine the flicker of consternation that no-one else would ever see at this unprecedented offer. Drinks would logically mean removing their helmets. And that was so far down the list of good ideas it was unreal.

"Nah, boss has been cracking down on drinking at work," Danny explained, with a snarl.

Rusty nodded and let his voice fade into a nauseating whine. "They were actually talking about breathalyser tests. Can you believe that shit?"

"Fucking un-American," Mackenzie agreed, and came out from behind the bar with the cash bags.

Perfect. Rusty produced the clipboard. "Sign, please."

He waited until Mackenzie had scrawled his name across three different sheets, and then he brought two fingers up to his helmet, nodded to Danny and they headed towards the door.

The moment they got it open they saw the other security van, and the two men in uniforms identical to their own, just starting to cross the street.

Behind them, Mackenzie seemed to catch on to the situation quickly, judging by the loud oath and the subsequent scream of "Help! Robbery!"

The two guards immediately started running towards them and the guards were between them and the escape van, and Rusty spared less than a second of a glance to Danny at his left to confirm that the immediate plan involved running. Fast.

They ran, and no-one was immediately behind them, which was strange, because even though the guards had been further away, it shouldn't have taken much for Mackenzie to catch up with them. Unless he was doing something else instead. And then he heard the gunshot. And then he heard Danny cry out. And then he understood and both sounds echoed through his mind like the fall of the world, like the end of reality, like the death of everything he knew.

He spun round immediately of course, quicker than he knew he could. Even though he was more frightened of what he might see than he ever had been in his life.

Danny was on the ground directly behind him, clutching at his blood-soaked right thigh. _Directly_ behind him. When Rusty knew perfectly well that seconds, moments, millennia before, Danny had been running beside him, and barely a step behind. And he couldn't think about that too hard, because there was anger and rage and inevitable resignation, and above all, there wasn't _time. _

He dropped forwards and pulled Danny up, ignoring the stifled gasp. They had to keep going.

"_You_ have to keep going," Danny corrected.

"Can't hear you," Rusty told him and he draped Danny over himself like they were running in a three legged race or something. "Keep the pressure on."

He'd glanced backwards while he was hauling Danny to his feet and one of the security guys had skidded to a halt beside Mackenzie, and thankfully seemed to be persuading the guy to put his gun down. But the other one was still following, and by the sounds of it, gaining.

They were going to be caught. They were going to be arrested. Danny would be going to prison. He'd be going to Juvie.

Time to think of something. Something beside Danny's dead weight on his shoulders, and the sound of rapid, ragged breathing in his ears.

Okay. He glanced sideways. The street was nearly deserted, but not quite. There were some night people around; no-one who wanted to get involved. He could change that.

He took a firm hold of the cash bags and threw them backwards as hard as possible and they spilled all over the road. "Free money!" he yelled as loud as possible and people spilt into the street, and the guard came to an abrupt halt and Rusty crossed his fingers that 'recover the money' was the company's main motivation.

Not that they were going to wait around to find out. Resolutely ignoring the startled, if frighteningly weak, protests, he quickly pulled Danny up and onto his shoulder in a fireman's lift and ran – staggered – as fast as he could towards the nearest alley. He couldn't do this for long. Danny was still taller. Still heavier. But he could do it for long enough; if nothing had changed from this afternoon.

It hadn't. The car was still there. Dirty and nondescript and looking like it hadn't been touched in weeks. He could only hope that it still worked.

He fell against the door, and lowered Danny to the ground, pulling the ridiculous helmets off with a snarl of frustration, and he tried not to see how pale Danny was, tried not to see the sweat, the pain-dulled eyes, the fear, and above all, he tried not to see the blood.

"Sorry," he whispered, as he searched through his pockets frantically. He could hear the shouting from the street coming closer. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry."

A hand reached up and settled on his wrist briefly. "Don't be sorry," Danny said and when Rusty looked down he was actually smiling. "'S okay, Rus'."

It wasn't. There was nothing okay here. Finally he found what he was looking for, and with a disproportionately overwhelming feeling of relief, he jimmied the lock and got the door open.

"Guard just ran past," Danny said suddenly.

"What?" Rusty looked round startled.

Danny took a deep breath. "Top of the alley. Guess he – "

" – didn't see us?" Rusty asked incredulously.

There was a pain filled laugh. "We had to get lucky sometime."

"Some of us get lucky frequently," Rusty pointed out, as he leaned further into the car, checking the petrol gauge – not much, but enough, probably, maybe, reaching down under the dashboard, because there was no point in getting Danny in and settled and _then _finding out the thing didn't run.

The engine coughed a couple of times and then started purring pleasantly, and Rusty turned round and grinned at Danny happily, but Danny's eyes were closed, and he was slumped over, his hands wrapped tightly around the back of his thigh.

Heart in his mouth, Rusty knelt down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Danny?"

No answer.

"Danny?" he begged, a little louder and this time Danny's eyes flickered open.

"Rus'?" He sounded uncertain, and he was shaking. Shock, Rusty realised vaguely, and his mind flashed instantaneously to times when Danny had stayed with him, arms round him, holding him, talking to him till he stopped shaking.

"I'm here," Rusty promised. "I'm here." It was as close to 'Everything's going to be all right' as either of them ever got, and he leaned in and brushed his lips briefly against Danny's cheek.

He stood up and without taking his hand off Danny's shoulder, opened the rear door. This was going to be difficult.

"Danny? You think you can give me a hand here?"

"Sure," Danny agreed immediately and Rusty knew that was nothing more than instinct.

He crouched down in front of Danny and wrapped his arms round his chest. "Okay I need you to lean on me . . . that's good." With a lot of effort, a lot of moaning, and a lot of pain that broke Rusty's heart, he managed to get Danny lying down across the backseat. And that meant it was time.

He looked down at Danny's thigh. Saw the hole in the back of his pants leg. Saw the blood – far, far too much blood. And there was only one hole and he'd been hoping so much for two. Hoping that there wasn't a bullet inside Danny. (_A bullet inside Danny that should have hit _him.) He bit down on his lip hard and wriggled out of his jacket, the itchy jumper and finally his belt.

"What're you doing?" Danny mumbled distantly.

Rusty ignored him for a moment and laid the belt gently around the top of Danny's leg. Just above the injury. He took a deep breath. "We have to get the bleeding stopped. It's going to hurt."

Danny looked at him, uncomprehendingly.

"Trust me," Rusty said tightly

Danny smiled. "Always," he said, indistinct, pained, contented.

Rusty closed his eyes and bit his lip as hard as he could and pulled the belt tight.

Danny's scream carried on in his mind for a very, very long time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, when Danny finally managed to focus on him again, and at least there was clarity in the look now, but Rusty could feel the tears trailing down his face.

There was a frown and realisation and forgiveness and a dismissive headshake. "Someone will have heard. We need to get out of here."

"Right." He bundled the jacket under Danny's head as a make-shift pillow, and he gently laid the jumper on top of Danny's leg and pressed Danny's hands onto it. "Keep the pressure on."

He kept his hands on Danny's a fraction longer than he had to, and he felt the answering squeeze. "Get going."

With a nod, he closed the door and ran back to the driver's seat.

He had to get them to safety.

* * *

It hadn't been a conscious choice. To be honest, there probably wasn't even a choice there. He'd looked back over his shoulder and he'd seen Mackenzie raising the gun, and if he or Rusty had to be shot, well, there was no way that it was going to be Rusty. Not while he could help it. Not while he could do something.

And it hadn't hurt the way he'd expected. Not at first. Like someone had kicked him in the back of the leg, and then the leg had vanished from under him as though it had never existed. The pain had come later. When Rusty had picked him up. Come back for him. (Of course he'd argued. But if Danny couldn't let Rusty be shot, Rusty couldn't leave Danny behind.) Then, _then_ it had started to feel like his leg was on fire. Like he was being stabbed with a thousand, tiny, angry needles. And even that hadn't hurt like it had when Rusty had pulled the tourniquet tight.

Rusty. He glanced up again and caught Rusty's eyes in the rear view mirror and tried to offer a reassuring smile. It was less than successful, given the way Rusty's jaw tightened. "I'm all right," he promised.

"You're not," Rusty told him, and he couldn't exactly argue, because even if the pain had died down a little, it was still there, still throbbing relentlessly.

"I'll be all right," he offered instead and Rusty nodded like there couldn't be any other alternative.

"You will be."

Maybe it was just him, but the streets were going by alarmingly fast. "We being followed?"

"No." Rusty shook his head definitively, and Danny relaxed a little. They might just get away without any more catastrophes tonight.

"Then slow down," he suggested lightly. The last thing that they needed right now was to be pulled over.

Rusty didn't answer, but he put his foot down a little harder.

"Who taught you to drive?" Danny demanded.

"You did," Rusty answered shortly.

"Still amazed that they gave you your license," he muttered and then he paused and thought. Because Rusty had about five driver's licenses. But now that Danny thought about it, they'd never actually got him a real one. "We should do something about that."

Rusty shot him an exasperated look.

"Seriously, slow down," Danny said through clenched teeth.

"We need to get to the hospital, Danny."

Danny blinked. Oh, that was a bad idea. "We're not going to the hospital."

Rusty took a sharp breath. "You've been – "

" – which is why we're not going anywhere near the hospital," Danny said firmly. "They report gunshot wounds. It's the law."

"We can't deal with this on our own." Rusty sounded frustrated.

Danny nodded and tried to ignore the latest, rising wave of pain. "Take us home. We'll think of something."

Rusty stopped the car, and twisted round. "You need a doctor."

"Then we get a doctor," Danny said patiently.

"You know any – "

" – no, but we know – "

" – people who might," Rusty finished, and there was a certain amount of guilt in his voice, but at least now he was thinking rather than simply reacting.

"It's okay, Rus'."

Rusty's eyes were thoughtful. "Saul was going to get us a doctor in Vegas. If he knew one there, he might know one here."

"But Saul's _in _Vegas," Danny pointed out with a frown.

"Staying at the Xanadu. Under the name of Silas Pendersmith." He paused and Danny knew he was looking blank. Rusty smiled back at him. "There are such things as phones you know, Danny?"

Danny tried out an experimental pout. "I've been shot. Don't mock me."

Rusty turned the engine back on. "You're going to be milking this one for a while, aren't you?"

And Rusty sounded like Rusty again, and that meant that Danny could lean back and relax and focus on blocking out the pain.

Not that that was possible.

It hurt.

* * *

**There we go, I shot Danny. Happy now, mate? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Current thinking is leaning towards four chapters, total in this. Current thinking may be wrong. Who can say? **

**Oh, and there is a character in this who is influenced by one of my older obsessions. Namely M*A*S*H. It wasn't deliberate, but it is there. Not so visible in this chapter, perhaps, but there. This is just me acknowledging the influence.**

* * *

He parked the car directly outside their apartment building. The stolen car. Not something he'd even consider doing, normally, but when he weighed that against making Danny travel any further than he had to, well, there was just no question. Besides, if he was right, no-one would notice this car had gone for a while. And no-one had seen them, not the car, not their faces. They should be okay. And he would get rid of the car, the security uniforms, the IDs – everything incriminating. Just as soon as he felt comfortable leaving Danny alone. He grinned; that would probably be some time next century.

"Something funny?" Danny gasped, as they staggered up the stairs. Danny's arm was over his shoulders. Rusty was supporting most of Danny's weight, and still Danny was struggling not to cry out with every step. They should have moved into somewhere with an elevator. He should have seen that this might be an issue, and they should have moved into somewhere with an elevator, so he wouldn't be forcing Danny to go through this.

"Thinking about that time your dad took us fishing," he answered promptly. "You whine more when you get wet than when you get shot, you know that?"

"Liar," Danny said immediately.

Rusty pretended to misunderstand. "You do!"

Danny said nothing. But he pressed his head against Rusty's chest, and just because Danny wasn't complaining didn't mean that Rusty didn't know how much it hurt. He wondered if Danny could feel how fast his heart was beating.

It was a relief to get inside, and more, far more, to get Danny lying down on his bed. Even if Danny buried his face into the pillow and tried to hide his eyes and his pain. That hurt a little, but Rusty busied himself making a pile from cushions and towels and anything that didn't move away fast enough, and making sure Danny's leg was elevated and supported.

"Feel like a flamingo," Danny mumbled.

"Colour wouldn't suit you," Rusty replied. He headed through to the kitchen and grabbed painkillers, the first aid kit and a glass of water and was back in Danny's room practically before he left. His hands were shaking, he noticed, as he put the glass down on the nightstand. He had to get that under control fast.

Danny twisted his head round to look at him. "_You're_ talking to _me_ about colours?" He was pale, but he looked amused. In control. That was good.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rusty demanded, holding out three pills and offering the water.

Danny took them with a grimace. "Did you see what you were wearing for your date on Friday? Or do you not actually look in the mirror?"

"It's in," Rusty said firmly, staring down at the back of Danny's pants leg. At the hole. At the dark stain.

"You don't care what's in," Danny argued.

And that was true. "I looked good. Chrissie said I looked good."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Chrissie thinks you'd look good naked."

Oh, he walked right into that one, bullet or no bullet. Rusty grinned. "She does. She did. I do." He paused, and he crouched down in front of Danny and let the apology show. "I need to – "

Danny nodded. " – he's not going to be happy."

"Yeah." Not happy in the slightest, Rusty would think.

"Rus'." Danny licked his lips. "Rus'."

And he understood that fear perfectly well. "I won't be long," he promised. He didn't bother pointing out he'd just be in the other room. Ten feet could still be too far apart.

"Go," Danny said hoarsely and he ran for the living room and the phone.

He dialled the number that Saul had given him two weeks ago, for the hotel he and Bobby would be staying in. Just for emergencies, he'd said, just in case, and they'd been quietly amused, and there had been mockery, because what could happen? They weren't children; Saul taught them, they didn't expect him to look after them. They took care of each other, and that was all they needed, and if they'd – he'd – thought to make sure they knew how to find a discreet doctor, there wouldn't be any problems.

The concierge answered and he asked to be put through to Mr Pendersmith's room. He waited for a long few seconds, wondering what he'd do if Saul was out.

"Yes? What?" Saul sounded . . . well. Saul sounded like he'd just been woken up in the middle of the night.

"It's Rusty," he said at once. "We need the number of a doctor in our area."

He heard the sharp inhalation. Heard the split second hesitation. Heard Saul get on top of it all and focus on the practical. "What's happened?"

"Danny got shot in the leg. I got the bleeding stopped, for now, but the bullet's still in there." There. If he said it matter-of-factly, like that, he could get through. Just about.

"How is he?" Saul asked anxiously, and Rusty did his best not to think.

"He's fine." His voice was neutral. Steady. Calm and reassuring. He wondered if Saul was fooled, even for a second.

There was the tiniest pause. "How are you?"

"I wasn't the one who got shot," he pointed out, almost evenly. Because Danny had stood in front of the bullet.

"Robert." Saul's voice was quiet and stern.

"I'm doing okay, Saul," he said, after a second. "We're fine, I promise. We just need that doctor as soon as possible."

"I know a few guys in the city. Walt's probably closest. You at your place?" Saul spoke briskly.

Rusty closed his eyes, overwhelmed with relief. "Yeah."

"I'll make a call. He'll be with you soon as possible. Keep calm."

"I'm always calm," he pointed out.

"Yeah." Saul was quiet. Rusty hung up and went back through to Danny.

Danny was exactly where he'd left him, unsurprisingly. And as soon as Rusty entered the room, some of the tension, some of the pain, seemed to flow away. Rusty stood for a long moment, looking down at Danny's leg and biting his lip. "Danny . . . "

"You want to take a look." Danny sounded calm. Which was impressive, really, because he wasn't.

"Need to see," Rusty apologised.

There was a pause. "We can't just ignore it?" Danny asked hopefully.

Rusty laughed shortly. "Hope it goes away on its own?" Not exactly their normal style.

"No," Danny agreed, and Rusty heard the unspoken admission. He was scared too. Scared of what he might see, scared of how bad this could be, scared that Danny could . . .

"It's going to hurt, however I do it," he said quietly.

Danny looked up at him, eyes serious. "Then stop hesitating."

He nodded and pulled the scissors out of the kit and, as gently as he could, he started to cut the material away. And he did his best to be careful, did his best to keep the cloth away from Danny's leg, and still there were the gasps, and still there were the moans.

His hands weren't shaking now. And there were no tears.

Finally he was done, and he got a look at the wound.

"What . . . what's it . . . ?" Danny managed to scrape out, between clenched teeth. Rusty winced, because the painkillers should have started working by now, and it suddenly occurred to him that maybe they were. Maybe this was it _with _the edge off.

"It's nothing," he lied. "Looks like a paper cut. You sure you got shot?"

It looked the size of the Grand Canyon. The edges were black and the blood was everywhere. It had slowed to a trickle though. Tourniquet was doing something. He'd done something right tonight.

Danny reached out a hand blindly, and Rusty caught if firmly and squeezed it tight and brought it to his lips. After a second, Danny spoke. "You think . . . . you think I'm going to . . ."

Lose the leg? Walk again? _Die_? Rusty had no idea. They'd never had to deal with anything like this before. He wished he knew, and he wished he could lie to Danny, spin the reassuring story, promise everything was going to be okay, laugh and say it was only (_only!)_ a bullet in his leg, not the end of the world. He knelt down in front of Danny, still clutching his hand and they looked at each other for a long, long time and the only thing that passed between them was everything. He kissed Danny on the cheek, and then he stood up and reached for the antiseptic. "Clint Eastwood never dies," he said, finally.

"He did in 'The Beguiled," Danny answered immediately, and they both winced. Because first? First he lost the leg.

"Well, you're safe from everything except school girls with mushrooms then," Rusty said firmly. "Ready?"

"No!" Danny said immediately, and he screwed his eyes shut in readiness. "Okay," he said, after a long moment.

Rusty hesitated. But it was true, so he had to say it. He knew, he had experience, and they were the same, after all. "It'll be easier if you look at me. It hurts less."

Danny opened his eyes. And he kept them fixed on Rusty through the pain, even when he obviously wanted to scream, and Rusty didn't look away, he kept his gaze steady, and he promised it would be over soon.

"There," Rusty said finally, and he folded some gauze over Danny's leg. He could only hope it'd been in time to prevent infection.

Danny closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I'm more like Bogart anyway. Bogart doesn't get shot."

"Angels with Dirty Faces." Rusty pointed out immediately

"Doesn't count if it's Cagney." Danny said definitely.

"Yeah," Rusty said quietly, and perched on the other side of the bed gingerly. After a moment he realised that he was absently rubbing the blood off his hands. Danny was smiling. Just a little "What?"

"'S my blood," Danny explained. "It's never been my blood before."

Rusty swallowed. "It was your blood in Vegas," he argued.

"Both of us," Danny corrected.

And Rusty wanted to ask, was desperate to ask, but the loud rapping at the door made them both jump.

"Doctor?" Rusty suggested hopefully. Little quicker than he'd been expecting, but he could hope.

"Police?" Danny countered and Rusty wasn't so sure he was as bothered as he should be. Either way, Danny would be getting medical attention.

"One way to find out," he said lightly, and headed to answer the door.

A glance through the peephole convinced him that it wasn't the police; the man standing outside had to be well into his sixties. He opened the door a fraction. "Yes?"

The man looked startled. "Sorry kid, I think I have the wrong address."

Rusty's eyes fell on the medical bag in the man's hands. "Saul send you?"

If anything, that made the man look more surprised. "Yeah. I'm Walt Bowman. Dr Bowman."

Thank god. He opened the door wide. "I'm Rusty Ryan. Come in, Dr Bowman."

"Walt. Please." He walked in, still looking curiously at Rusty. "Saul said someone's been shot?"

"Yeah," Rusty said quietly. "It's his leg."

"Your father?" Walt guessed.

Rusty tensed. Noticeably. And he knew it was noticeable because of the way Walt frowned at him. "No," he said, a little too quickly. "My . . . " He hesitated. "Danny. Danny's been shot. Through here." He walked towards the bedroom, trusting that Walt would follow, trusting that he'd help them. Trusting Saul.

If Walt had looked unhappy at seeing Rusty, it was a thousand times worse when he saw Danny. Rusty got the distinct impression that somehow the very sight made him miserable. And then it all faded away, and he walked up to the head of the bed, and smiled down at Danny as though neither of them could possibly have a care in the world. "Hi there, kid. I'm Walt. I'm a friend of Saul's, here to help you."

Danny grinned a little. "Nice to meet you. I'd get up but – "

" – but as your doctor I'm ordering you to lay off the politeness for a bit," Walt interrupted. "Now listen, Danny. I'm going to take a look at your leg. See what we've got. Then I'll decide whether we're getting you to a hospital or whether I can do something for you here. How does that sound?"

It sounded good to Rusty. Danny's eyes slid past Walt and fixed on him, and they were in complete agreement. "Sounds good," Danny agreed, a second after Walt had followed his gaze and taken to frowning at Rusty again.

"Okay. Then I'll give you something for the pain first," Walt said, looking through his bag.

Danny hesitated. Rusty could see it, and he could understand why, because there was someone they didn't know in their home, and Danny didn't want to be anymore helpless than he already was, and he didn't want to leave Rusty alone in any way. But just because he understood didn't make it any less stupid. "Saul knows him," he reminded Danny quietly and he held Danny's stare until Danny nodded slowly.

Walt was still frowning. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," they said in unison, then Rusty blinked. "Oh, I gave him a couple of painkillers." Last thing he wanted was something that might interfere with whatever Walt was doing.

"Show me the packet," Walt requested and Rusty picked it up off the chair he'd dropped it on. Walt stared at it for a few seconds. "No problem," he said finally and produced a needle. "This won't hurt a bit."

Danny smiled at Rusty. "You ever notice that doctors lie more than we do?" Then he winced, as the needle jabbed his arm.

The examination took ten minutes or so. And if Rusty had been in the habit of biting his fingernails, he probably would have gnawed through to the bone. As it was, he stood, holding Danny's hand loosely, offering silent comfort and reassurance, and anything else Danny wanted, and concentrating on not being in the way.

Finally Walt stood back, pulled off his gloves and sighed. "Okay, then. We're doing this here."

"How bad is it?" Danny asked quietly, a second before Rusty managed to come up with some other way of phrasing the question.

Walt smiled reassuringly. "You know, it's not that bad. In my day, with an injury like this, they'd expect you to turn out for morning callisthenics the next day. I'd say that there's nothing that should stop you making a full recovery."

Rusty could see the relief spread through Danny and he squeezed Danny's hand tightly. At that moment, they could conquer the world. If they wanted to.

"Thanks, Walt," Danny smiled.

"Thank you," Rusty whispered.

"Yeah, well," Walt nodded awkwardly. "I need a place to scrub up. And I'm going to need an assistant." He narrowed his eyes at Rusty. "You up to it kid?"

Helping the man who was helping Danny? If he wasn't up to it, he'd rather lie down and die now. He nodded quickly. "Of course," he said confidently.

Walt hesitated. "Look. Is there someone you should be calling right now?" He looked from one to the other. "Family?"

Danny shook his head. "It's just us," he said, and then when Walt still looked a little uncomfortable he smiled, a little dopily. "I got Rusty. I don't need anyone else."

Despite everything, Rusty could feel himself grinning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ha! This took a while. I'm useless in a variety of ways.**

**Thanks go to InSilva for many, many things, including the suggesting of a name that wasn't Rosetta Stone.**

* * *

Danny was unconscious. Walt had given him a shot of something and Danny had gone from his already-drugged state of relaxed and pain-free to flat-out unconscious and now Rusty had helped Walt disinfect everything in sight and his hands and arms felt scoured and he was standing next to a tray of sharp instruments and he was sure he'd never felt this uncertain in his life, and he hated it so much.

Walt must have caught sight of him. Must have seen something. "Look, kid. I wasn't joking before. This is straightforward. We're strictly playing the minor leagues here. Little League, you might say. I've done this a thousand times before."

"We haven't," Rusty said quietly, his eyes fixed on the slackness of Danny's face.

"Well, I'd certainly hope not," Walt muttered dryly, and there was something in his voice that made Rusty frown. "Okay. Let's get started."

He didn't let himself forget what he was doing. Even though it would have been so much easier. Even though he could have just lost himself in learning something new and useful; especially with Walt carefully explaining what he was doing every step of the way. But he'd never forget that Walt was cutting into Danny. Was operating on Danny. Was fixing Danny because Rusty had let him get shot.

And every cut and every stitch was torture.

"You ever thought about being a doctor?" Walt asked, after the second time that Rusty was already handing him the right instrument before he asked for it. "Good career if you've got the smarts and you're willing to work hard."

He wasn't. Not for that. "I got a career."

"Uh huh," Walt shook his head to himself. Rusty kept his mouth shut.

The bullet landed on the tray with a dull clink. "There we go!" Walt said cheerfully.

"That's it?" Rusty asked incredulously. It was so small. A little lump of metal.

Walt stared at it too, his eyes distant. "38 calibre. Much larger and your buddy might be short a leg." Rusty could feel the blood draining from his face. Could feel the shaking starting deep inside him. Walt looked at him anxiously and swore. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine." Rusty said quickly, forcing himself back under control. It was fine, that was the point. Just because it could have been different. If Mackenzie owned a different type of gun. If Mackenzie could shoot straight. The worst hadn't happened and he wasn't going to make a fool of himself over might-have-beens.

Walt sighed. "Yeah. Right."

Rusty looked up sharply. Again, there was something in his voice. "Do we have a problem?"

Walt kept stitching. "Well, let's see now. Your buddy's been shot. That's a problem. You're scared to death and too good at hiding it. That's a problem. Korea was _thirty years ago_ and I'm back digging bullets out of _babies_. That's a problem."

"We're not – " he began to argue.

"Put your finger there, will you?" Walt interrupted and Rusty quickly did as he was told. Walt sighed. "I'm going to talk to Saul. This isn't right. This isn't a children's game."

"We're not children," he said sharply. "Look, like it or not, right or wrong, me and Danny made our choices. This is what we're good at. This is who we are. We know what we're doing and we're where we want to be."

"Even now?" Walt asked intently.

He stared down at Danny. And he thought about the difference between having nothing to lose and playing like you had nothing to lose and he thought about selfishness and he thought about the alternatives. ". . . yes," he said quietly.

He met Walt's eyes and Walt smiled wearily. "You can move your finger now, kid."

The doorbell rang, loud and obnoxious, breaking the moment of understanding.

"I'm almost finished here. Just fixing this dressing. You can go answer it." Walt nodded towards the door.

Rusty hesitated. It was still dark outside. "We're not expecting anyone," he said, carefully.

Walt looked up sharply. "Police?"

He shrugged. It was possible. Despite everything that logic told him, it was possible. "There's a window if you – "

" – At my age?" Walt snorted. "I'll take my chances."

Rusty smiled. "I'll get the door." He walked and thought quickly. If it _was_ the police, best thing might be to barge past them. Make them chase him. Lead them away from the apartment and away from Danny. If he was good and if he was quick and if he was loud enough and distracting enough when they did finally catch him, he might be able to make sure he was the only one taken.

He opened the door a fraction and was confronted with a smiling woman he'd swear he'd never seen before. Not a cop either. He'd put money on it. She squinted at him through the gap. "Oh, you're cute," she announced, decisively. "I must have the right house."

Well. That was just . . . actually he had no idea what that was. He smiled the smile that made Chrissie blush. "Well, you're beautiful, and at any other time I'd be only too happy to agree you had the right house. But I'm afraid right now – "

" – Walt here?" she interrupted and he shrugged and stood back and let her in. "Thanks."

He closed the door behind her and gave a questioning look. "Molly Caldwell. I've heard a lot about you, Rusty."

Molly Caldwell. Bobby's Molly. Oh. "It's all lies," he answered immediately.

She grinned. "Oh, I doubt that."

"Not to sound rude, but what are you doing here?" he asked politely.

Her expression immediately turned serious. "How is he doing?"

He kept all the agony off his face. "Walt says he's going to be fine."

"Good." She didn't even know them and yet he'd swear her relief was genuine and heartfelt. "I'm in town seeing my folks while Bobby's away. Got a phone call asking me to get over here and check on you. Since Saul can't get a flight out till morning."

Rusty's jaw set firmly. "He didn't say anything about coming back."

She looked at him carefully. "Would you have told him not to?"

"Of course." He didn't even hesitate.

"That'll be why he kept his mouth shut," she smiled, a little sadly.

"There's no need for it," he argued. There wasn't. There wasn't anything Saul could do.

She shrugged. "Saul takes his responsibilities seriously."

"We're not his responsibility!" Rusty pointed out sharply.

"Think he sees it differently." She sounded almost amused.

Rusty blinked and wondered.

"I need to phone Bobby and Saul to let them know what's happening," she continued. "Mind if I have a word with Walt first?"

He gestured towards the bedroom door. "Be my guest."

Walt looked up cheerfully when they entered the room. He was tidying up his bag. Danny's leg was bandaged. "Molly Prior! I thought I heard your dulcet tones!"

"It's Caldwell now, Walt. You were at the wedding." Her smile faded. "How's the patient?" Rusty drifted past quietly and stood at the head of the bed. He reached for Danny's hand.

"Simple extraction, no complications. He's going to be just fine." Walt's words were obviously intended as much for Rusty as Molly and Rusty nodded his understanding and looked back at Danny as Walt turned his smile on Molly. "Can't blame an optimistic old man for forgetting. Can I say you're looking beautiful?"

"Go ahead," she said dryly. "You won't be the first one tonight."

"Competition! At my age that's the last thing I need." He paused. "And where's the little one?"

"Linus? Left him with his grandparents. Which means that when I get back he'll probably be sitting, surrounded by every toy and candy bar available in a ten mile radius, and they'll be discussing what to buy him next." Her voice was fond and indulgent.

"Spoiling the kid is every grandparent's right," he told her.

There was a pause and Rusty was aware they were both looking at him. He held Danny's hand tight and didn't look round.

"I'm going to give Bobby and Saul a ring. Before they go completely out of their minds," Molly said abruptly.

"Too late, probably," Walt muttered.

She ignored him. "Rusty? What should I tell them happened?"

"We were pulling a Zabinski Switch. Must have got the timing wrong." He'd swear they hadn't. "The real guards showed up. Chased us. The owner shot at us." Shot at him. Hit Danny. Hit _Danny_. "I got him out of there. Stole a car."

"It's outside?" Molly asked quickly.

He nodded. "Yeah. Grey heap of junk. But not too noticeable. It'll keep till morning."

There was a pause and he stared down at his hand on Danny's and thought about consequences.

"You got him safe, Rusty." Molly said gently. "You did good."

"Lot of people don't do half as well," Walt agreed.

Rusty concentrated on keeping himself together. On being whole and stone.

Molly sighed and headed to the door. "I'll make some coffee as well, how about that?" she suggested brightly.

Rusty suddenly vaguely remembered that he should be being a host. "I can – "

" – Stay with Danny," Molly told him gently. "I can handle it."

The door shut behind her before Rusty could answer. "He really is going to be all right, kid." Walt said, equally gently.

"I know," Rusty said, distantly, the might-have-beens still flickering at the corner of his mind. "You said."

There was another pause. "Kid? Rusty?" He looked up. "I'm going to stay here for a few more hours. Until he's conscious and I'm sure everything's fine. I'll also leave you with a supply of painkillers and I'll bring a couple more prescriptions over tomorrow. And a set of crutches. He's going to need to stay off that leg completely for a few days and use the crutches for at least three weeks." Walt paused. "You got all that?"

Rusty nodded.

"Think you can handle all that?" Walt pressed further.

"He'll listen to me," Rusty said with a slight smile. He could be insistent.

"Glad to hear it. I'll tell him as well, but I thought I might as well get you up to speed first." Walt hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more.

"What else?" Rusty asked, quickly.

"I'd like to refer him to a physiotherapist. I know a guy, Will Sharpe, very discreet, very understanding. Now, I don't mind fiddling with Medicaid if – "

" – we can pay," Rusty assured him.

Walt frowned. "You sure?"

"What else is money for?" he said, lightly. He already had a couple of things in mind. Easy money. Things they'd left alone because they were too easy. Things they could do in their sleep, or he could do on his own. A thought crossed his mind and he smiled. "How much do we owe you, by the way?"

"Ah," Walt waved a hand dismissively. "You'll be seeing a lot of me over the next few weeks. We'll settle up at the end."

"You sure?" He was pretty certain that wasn't the way it usually worked.

"Saul called me," Walt explained with a grin. "That means I know you're good for it. Recommendations work two ways."

Well, that was a quick way of getting a good reputation. He nodded and turned back to looking at Danny's face, peaceful and still. He hated that.

Molly came back through and gently pressed a steaming mug of coffee into his hands along with a plate of cookies that he set down on the night stand. Mabel's cookies. He smiled fondly at them, took a quick gulp of coffee and almost choked; there was a more-than liberal shot of whisky in there.

She looked amused. "Found it in your cupboard. And I figure, you're old enough to get shot at, you're old enough to drink.

"Good policy," Walt agreed, holding up his own mug. "Cheers." They drank and Walt looked over at Molly. "Going to be operating the same rules for Linus?"

She breathed in sharply. "He's _never_ going to be old enough to get shot at. We haven't made a positive decision on the drinking yet."

Rusty could see where this was about to go. And, honestly, he didn't want to get involved. He sat on the side of the bed and kept his eyes fixed on Danny and felt alone.

"You think these boys are old enough?" Walt asked and there was ice and anger in his voice.

Molly was calm and conciliatory. "Well, I'm sure no-one wants anyone to get shot. But it happens, Walt. You know that. And you said yourself, Danny is going to be fine."

"It wouldn't happen if they were safe at home." Walt argued.

They were at home.

"They are at home, Walt." Molly echoed his thought. "Look, just because they're young doesn't mean they don't have a right to make their own decisions. They know what they're doing. You heard about Rosetta Stein's place?"

That had been fun. Rusty smiled down at Danny and thought about the party and the marbles and the hoist for the ice sculptures, and he thought about the look on Danny's face when the head caterer had told them that Mrs Stein had specifically requested the two of them for her next Gala Dinner. In tighter trousers. They might have been worried about being recognised, but she hadn't been looking at their _faces_.

Walt paused. "They did that?"

"So I'm told," Molly answered smugly.

"Paddy Lynch has been talking about those marbles for three years"," Walt commented, his voice full of amusement.

She shrugged. "He's all talk these days."

Walt sighed. "None of this is the point, Molly. They're _children_."

And that was about as much as he could take. "Do you need me here for this?" he asked, politely.

Molly looked sharply at him. "Quite right. This isn't the time or the place."

It also wasn't their business. Though there were so many people these days who were interested in them. In their well being. And it wasn't like he didn't appreciate that. He smiled at them for a moment and then Danny moved ever so slightly and his attention was immediately where it always was.

"Rusty?" Molly attracted his attention gently. "I'm going to get rid of the car for you. Everything else still inside it?"

"I was going to do it later," he protested.

"Might as well do it now," she said calmly. "Gives me something to do."

He nodded. "Thank you," he said sincerely and he smiled at her and at Walt. Properly. "Thank you so much."

Molly nodded understandingly and headed out the door. Walt cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Don't mention it," he said and he looked at Rusty, holding Danny's hand, and for the first time he seemed to be seeing them as adults.

Rusty settled back and waited for Danny to wake up.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed. **


	4. Chapter 4

**See? Eventually everything get's finished. Or at least, eventually everything Ocean's 11 get's finished. Except 'The More Things Change' which is, by accident and design, infinite in length.  
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* * *

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Danny woke up slowly and groggily to the knowledge of pain and Rusty. Both seemed far away and for a little while he was content to drift in the hazy sea, not awake and not asleep, not knowing what had happened and not really caring. He wasn't exactly hurting and besides, Rusty was there.

Then there was something, some noise, some voices, and he was awake, had to be awake, because that meant they weren't alone, and if they weren't alone, how could they be safe? How could Rusty be safe?

With an effort he forced his eyes open, forced his mind awake and there was Rusty, Rusty sitting on a chair next to his bed, holding his hand and watching him, watching over him. He tried to smile and the pain hit him.

A sudden, screaming agony in his leg, and he remembered, the Zabinski Switch, and the running, and Mackenzie trying to shoot Rusty. He remembered the taste of his own desperation, and he'd jumped in front of the bullet. He remembered the pain. He felt the pain, lived the pain. And vaguely, he remembered Rusty getting him home, and he thought he remembered Rusty's fear, thought he remembered the doctor. Walt.

And now he could hear Walt's voice somewhere above him, and he felt the prick of a needle in his arm, but all his attention was on Rusty, and nothing else mattered because Rusty was there and Rusty was sharing the pain and he looked Rusty in the eyes, promising that he'd be all right and trying to ask the question, but Rusty was already answering it, and silently he promised Danny that they were safe, assured Danny that it was all right, that it was all all right, and Danny could, should, rest. And there were other things in there that had to be addressed, guilt and fear and anger and apology, but that could wait because Rusty wasn't going anywhere. Rusty was with him, so he contented himself with squeezing Rusty's hand tightly and he felt his eyes close again.

* * *

Rusty watched Danny drift back into unconsciousness and took comfort in the fact that he'd been there, that he'd looked at Rusty and he'd been coherent enough for conversation, for reassurance. It was one thing to hear Walt say that Danny was going to wake up any minute now, it was oh, so much better to see it for himself. He closed his eyes and concentrated on not grinning out loud.

"Hey, kid. He's going to be fine," Walt told him gently, and Rusty opened his eyes and looked round with a frown.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Walt persisted. "I know he wasn't really awake there, but probably the next time he wakes up he'll be able to tell you so himself."

"He did," Rusty pointed out blankly, and then he saw the uncomprehending look on Walt's face, and he winced inside. Right. Right, that had all been them being them, and people noticed that and people didn't understand that, and Saul had said that maybe it made them vulnerable and they'd agreed to try and be more aware of it all.

"He recognised you?" Molly asked from the doorway. Huh. Rusty hadn't even heard her come back in. She hadn't rung the doorbell this time.

"Yeah," he agreed. It sounded like an explanation but there was something in her eyes and for the first time he wondered what it was that Bobby had actually said about them.

Walt nodded. "That's good. You mind?"

Rusty moved aside a little to let Walt get in and he watched Walt fuss, watch Walt make all the little checks and tests that told him that Danny was _alive._

_

* * *

_

It was an hour later that Danny woke up properly and became aware that there was a woman in his bedroom. And, normally, he liked to be introduced before that happened.

His eyes flickered over to Rusty, even as Walt started quietly fussing over him, and silently he was screaming the questions, demanding to know what was important.

Rusty's expression was quietly reassuring. "Think introductions are in order. Danny, this is Molly Caldwell. She came by a little while ago."

Bobby's Molly. Well, that was okay. He didn't think he liked it, not even a little bit, but it was okay. He smiled and concentrated on being as warm and charming as he could. "Pleasure to meet you at long last."

She shook the hand he offered and smiled. "Nice to meet you too, Danny. And you needn't bother flirting. Rusty's already taken care of that."

He blinked. Oh, that they were going to be talking about later. He smiled at her again and turned to Walt. "How am I doing?" he asked, because he already had Rusty's answer, but things could have changed.

"You're fine, kid," Walt said reassuringly. "Healthier than I am."

He gave a sigh of relief and Rusty squeezed his fingers reassuringly, and should they be doing that in front of other people? Somehow he couldn't bring himself to care so much. Not as if he didn't think – know – that Rusty had been holding his hand most of the night. Not as if he could honestly bring himself to end it.

Walt coughed to get his attention. "Listen, I'm going to take off for a few hours. These," he produced a pack of pills, "are the painkillers. I want you to take one every three hours and no being macho about it, okay?"

He nodded. He'd see how they made him feel. And he could feel Rusty looking at him and he wondered how much of a say he was really going to get in this.

Walt looked from one to the other of them. "I should give these to you?" he asked Rusty and Rusty, traitor that he was, smiled and took them. Oh, Danny wasn't happy. "I'll be back later in the day. Couple more prescriptions for you, a referral to a physio I know, and I'll bring a pair of crutches. I've told Rusty all this."

Yeah. That didn't mean it was going to happen.

Rusty was looking at him and the steel in his eyes suggested he thought, maybe, it was.

Danny quietly suggested that maybe all this was an overreaction and Rusty should stop being a hypocrite.

With a fragment of misery and a hint of guilt, Rusty suggested that when bullets were involved it was a different thing altogether, and he wanted, needed, Danny to get better as soon as possible, and couldn't Danny just do what the doctor wanted? For him?

And even as Danny was succumbing to it, even as Danny was losing, he managed to suggest that Rusty didn't know how to play fair.

Walt and Molly were looking at them and Danny winced; they were supposed to be being more subtle than that, more careful.

Walt's bag was in his hand and Danny smiled at him. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "For everything."

"Never thank a doctor till you get his bill," Walt told him seriously and Danny grinned.

"I'll walk Walt to the door," Molly told them abruptly and Danny knew she was giving them time to talk.

Which was good. They needed to.

* * *

The door swung shut and Rusty looked at Danny for a long time before he managed to begin the apology. Because Danny was hurting and he was to blame. "I'm - "

Evidently Danny had been waiting for it. Of course he would be. " - it's not your fault. You're not the one who shot me."

"No," Rusty agreed and he thought of Mackenzie with a gun and he should have known and it shouldn't have been Danny, should never have been Danny.

"What?" Danny demanded and his eyes were narrowed and dangerous.

"He was aiming at me," Rusty pointed out tightly.

"Yeah."

"You should have - "

" - I should have _what_?" Danny demanded incredulously.

The words, the truth burst out of him and he was powerless to stop it. "It should have been me!"

Danny didn't say anything but his fist clenched convulsively around the edge of the duvet, and Rusty could see exactly which memories were playing out in his head and he remembered the bar and the fights he'd started and the look on Danny's face when he'd screamed at him, and he knew it wasn't so very long ago that Danny wasn't still frightened for him and he had to stop that now.

"Not like that," he said firmly. "I don't want either of us hurt. It's just it's . . . " He shrugged, helpless to explain. "It's just if one of us has to be it would be better if it was me." They were used to it being him, after all. He was used to being hurt, it wasn't such a big deal, wasn't momentous and terrifying.

Danny was watching him. Danny was understanding him. And Danny didn't look at all happy. "You're a selfish bastard. You know that?"

He blinked. Danny's voice had been calm and matter of fact and he'd meant every word. "Not wanting you hurt is selfish?"

"Yes," Danny said immediately. "God, yes."

He didn't understand.

Danny sighed and looked away. "Look," he said finally. "Suppose . . .suppose there's someone that you love more than . . . more than you'd think that one person _can _love another. You'd die for them in a heartbeat, right? And seeing them in pain hurts so much more than being in pain yourself."

He nodded. Not exactly something he had to strain to imagine.

"Right. Now. _Imagine they feel the exact same way. _And imagine you _know_ that seeing you in pain hurts them much more than if they were just in pain themselves. A hundred times more. A thousand times more. So if you get hurt stopping them from being hurt, it just ends up hurting more. Much, much more."

Rusty blinked. "So self-sacrifice is selfish?"

"Most selfish thing I can think of," Danny agreed.

"And you - " Took the bullet for me, got hurt for me, hurt yourself for me.

" - I know who I am," Danny interrupted with a slight smile. "I'm always going to be selfish that way. Just like you. It's who we are."

He couldn't deny it. And that really only left one question. "Did it feel like this?" He didn't specify a 'when'. He didn't have to specify a 'when'. There were eight long years of 'when'. Half his life-time of 'when'.

Danny looked at him for a very long time, studying him, and Rusty knew that he didn't want to answer. "Yes," he said finally, in a whisper. "Every time."

Rusty swallowed hard. He'd known it hurt Danny, of course he had. But he'd never wanted to think about how much, never wanted to think about how bad it must be for Danny to spend his life watching Rusty bleed. "I'm - "

" - don't you dare apologise," Danny interrupted fiercely, loudly. "Not for _him_. Not for what he - "

There was a knock and they froze and Rusty stood up and opened the door and smiled at Molly. There was something, the vaguest trace of discomfort and he wondered what she'd accidentally overheard, what she might be wondering about. "Saul's on the phone," she told him quietly and he nodded and looked back at Danny.

"I'd better -"

" - you had," Danny agreed.

He walked out into the hall and picked up the phone. "Hi, Saul."

"Rusty," Saul sounded happy to hear his voice. "How's Danny feeling? Molly said he was doing fine."

"He is," Rusty agreed and he paused. "You didn't need to get her to come here and - "

" - I did," Saul interrupted in a tone that didn't invite disagreement.

Rusty scowled and he'd swear that somehow Saul heard it.

There was a sigh. "Not just for my own peace of mind. Look. What do you think would have happened if Danny had to be taken to the hospital?"

He shook his head. "I don't . . .we'd have been in trouble."

"Yes," Saul agreed. "And there are ways of dealing with that. Cons that Molly could play that you can't. Yet."

He sighed. Yeah. He could understand that. "I hate being sixteen," he muttered.

Saul snorted. "You'll grow out of it."

Surprisingly he found himself grinning slightly. "Yeah." In the background he heard a tannoy and he hesitated. "You at the airport?"

"Yes," Saul said simply.

"Thought you said that you were in Vegas till next week?" he asked lightly.

Saul didn't even hesitate. "That was before Danny got shot."

"You don't need to come back," he protested. "Danny's going to be fine."

"I want to," Saul explained, with a calm edge to his voice. There was a slight pause. "Listen, if you don't want me to come by - "

The truth was on his lips before he'd even thought about it. " - we do."

"Good," and Saul sounded relieved and happy. "Now, you gonna tell me what happened? Molly said it was a Zabinski Switch?"

"Yeah," Rusty agreed dully. "We were just coming out of the bar with the money when the real security van pulled up. We must've got the timing wrong. I must have."

"You think so?" Saul was non-committal.

"I don't know." He sighed and rubbed at his mouth. He'd been sure. "I thought I had the schedule down perfectly."

"Probably you did," Saul said quietly. "Maybe they skipped somewhere. Maybe they were in a hurry. Maybe the traffic was with them. Could be anything. Bad luck happens, Rusty. You can have every detail taken care of, every angle covered, and still be surprised by random chance."

He nodded and didn't say anything. Saul was right, of course. But he liked to be in control. He liked to be able to predict the ways everything was going to play out. Danny was the gambler; Rusty needed to cheat.

There was another tannoy announcement and Saul sighed. "They're calling my flight. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," Rusty agreed. "Bye, Saul."

"Take care of yourselves," Saul instructed. "Both of you."

When he hung up the phone he was smiling a little.

* * *

Molly smiled at him and settled on the chair that Rusty had vacated. "Can I get you anything?"

"No thanks," he answered politely.

"How are you feeling?" she asked and he smiled and ignored the pain.

"I'm fine," he told her.

She nodded thoughtfully. "Uh huh. How did you tell _Rusty _you were feeling?"

He didn't think he quite managed to keep the surprise off his face. He blinked at her for a second then grinned appreciatively. "I've been better," he admitted. "It hurts some."

"I'll bet it does." She smiled at him and the sympathy was open and easy and he didn't resent it. "You can have a couple of painkillers in an hour.

He nodded and unconsciously glanced over at the door, wanting Rusty to come back, always wanting Rusty.

"He'll just be a few moments," Molly told him gently. "You know he doesn't like leaving you."

"No," Danny agreed. Hated it, actually.

"You know, I got shot the week I met Bobby," Molly mused and Danny looked round. "Hurt a lot and I was terrified." Danny could understand that. "Anyone would be. But I think Bobby was more scared than I was. He proposed in the ambulance."

Danny blinked. "He proposed . . . ?"

"Uh huh." She smiled. "And it would've been more romantic if we weren't already married."

He wanted to ask. He really, really did, but he found himself hesitating and she'd already moved on.

"And Bobby's had a couple of close calls since we were married. Both times while he was working for the Feds, actually. First time he got shot. Second time he got hit with a lawnmower."

Danny's thoughts came to a minor grinding halt. "A lawnmower?" he asked, involuntarily.

She smiled slightly. "Just a small one." The smiled faded. "He was in the hospital for four days. I think it's almost worse to be the one waiting, you know?"

He understood what she was trying to tell him. Understood that if they were different people, if they'd come from a different place, it would be good advice. But it was a lesson he'd learned a very long time ago. "Yeah," he said simply and he was met with a quick look of surprise and sympathy.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"'S'okay," he said evenly and then, thankfully, Rusty came back into the room and he was immediately looking at Danny, checking on him and Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes and promised that nothing bad had happened to him in the last five minutes.

"Saul's at the airport," Rusty announced. "He'll be here later this morning."

Danny frowned. "He's flying back up? Because - "

" - yeah," Rusty agreed. "You really - "

" - No." He didn't want to argue with Saul. Not any more than he had to.

Molly was looking slightly amused. "Why don't I fix us all some breakfast? Walt said it would be good for you to eat, Danny. If you feel up to it."

He considered carefully. The pain was far from overwhelming. A persistent agony, not an unbearable one. "Thank you," he smiled. "If you're sure you don't mind? You don't need to get back to - " The name was nowhere in his head.

" - Linus?" Rusty covered entirely smoothly, as though he was just finishing Danny's thought.

She shook her head. "My folks know I might be out all day. They're delighted. So's he. A chance not to have Mom around explaining that popcorn is not a breakfast food."

Rusty blinked. "It's cereal," he pointed out, uncertainty in his voice and Danny bit back his laugh.

"Oh, you'd be a bad influence," Molly smiled. "What do you have I could make?"

They exchanged an uncertain look. To Danny's knowledge they had a couple of bags of potato chips, a packet of oreos, assorted tootsie pops and a tin of ham that had just kind of turned up one day. "Mostly we eat out," he explained.

Molly didn't look especially surprised. "Where's good? And close?"

"Bakery on the corner," Rusty suggested. "They do bagels."

Huh. His favourite. Apparently the way to win the semi-permanent, semi-serious where-are-we-eating argument was to get shot.

He moved ever so slightly and the pain shot up his leg and he decided that no bagel was worth it. He didn't need to look at Rusty to know that other things were.

* * *

Pretty much as soon as Molly left the room Danny looked round at him and shifted his shoulders slightly and Rusty understood and immediately lay down on the bed beside him and gripped Danny's hand tightly. "It's okay," he said out loud. "It's really all okay."

"Yeah," Danny agreed and he exhaled and some of the tension flowed away.

They'd been frightened. They really had been. And for a long time they lay together and took comfort.

"I like her," Danny said presently.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed. "She's . . . " He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't matter. Danny nodded anyway.

"Exactly." There was a slight pause and Danny was looking at him. "So . . .?"

He frowned. "What?"

"You hit on Molly Caldwell? Really?"

Oh, that was annoying. "No. No, I didn't. Flirted slightly, maybe. But she started it."

"Uh huh." Danny looked amused. "For future reference, hitting on your friends' wives is discouraged."

"I didn't," he repeated patiently. "And even if I had, I didn't know who she was at the time."

Danny blinked. "So you were just going to hit on _whoever _turned up at the door?"

He sighed. "Is there anyway out of this conversation?"

Danny smiled and burrowed his face against Rusty's shoulder. "It hurts," he admitted quietly.

Rusty rested his hand on Danny's hair. "I know," he said, and he wished he could do something.

Eventually Danny looked up at him. "So what does this change?" he asked cautiously and Rusty didn't pretend not to understand the question.

"I don't think . . ." He shook his head. "We could walk away from everything now, play at being normal, and either of us could get run over by a bus tomorrow." He hoped it was what Danny wanted to hear. It was what he wanted to say.

"No guarantees," Danny nodded and there was relief in his eyes and Rusty smiled to see it.

He thought back to their conversation six months ago. "Guess nothing to lose - "

" - little more than we thought," Danny agreed. A lot more than they thought. If it included them, if it included _Danny . . . _that was a lot to pretend they weren't risking. Danny caught his look. "Regrets?"

"Too few to mention," Rusty assured him and that got a smile. Except there was something else and he rubbed at his mouth and Danny frowned.

"What?"

Rusty stared up at the ceiling "If we're playing like there's nothing to lose, why are we hiding?"

He could feel Danny's frown on the side of his face. "What - "

" - you don't need to tell me that you're bored in college. When's the last time you sat through a class without thinking about our next job? And we both know I hate school."

"Everyone hates school," Danny protested quietly. "And we agreed - "

" - I have the choice now, Danny. Because of you - "

" - us," Danny interrupted firmly and Rusty nodded.

"We got the opportunity. I could finish school and, you know what? I don't want to. It's not where I want to be." He turned to face Danny and he could see the thoughtful acceptance in Danny's eyes. He'd already known that really, college wasn't where Danny would want to be.

Danny smiled and nodded and like that the decision was made. "Doesn't get us any closer to - "

" - we've eaten pizza in Vegas," Rusty pointed out.

"That was only half the plan," Danny grinned.

Rusty shook his head amused. "Right. Right. You see the men with guns? Maybe our eyes are too big for our stomachs."

"In your case it's the other way round," Danny answered and sighed. "We still need to be careful for the next two years. I mean if you drop out, maybe there'll be questions."

"What, nothing to lose unless there's social services involved?" Rusty asked with a hint of annoyance.

"Suppose they send you back?" And Danny's voice was quiet and Rusty gripped his hand tightly and they were united in the knowledge that they wouldn't let that happen.

"Saul asked if we wanted him here," he said, admittedly out of nowhere. "And I said we did."

Danny understood the issue. "World's getting bigger," he said with wonder and amusement.

"Yeah." It was. So much bigger than he could ever have imagined. So much bigger than even _they'd_ ever dreamed. He turned his head and smiled at Danny. "I want to see it."

Danny smiled back. "Then we will."

* * *

**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed this story**.

**And if you haven't already, please go and have a look at the challenge on the forum. You don't actually need to be wanting to write a story to contribute. Thanks.**


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